


wear and tear

by AstronautSquid



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Body Worship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, but i wanted to make sure, not rly worth the M rating because sex is merely mentioned, very very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstronautSquid/pseuds/AstronautSquid
Summary: Thomas disliked talking much of Bethlem, but he had said enough to let James understand that good eating had not been part of his time there, and that much of what food he had been given he had been forced to bring up again. Toiling in Oglethorpe's fields had seen him filling out, but the labour had been as punishing as the food had been nourishing, so he had grown strong and hard, not pampered.But there it was. A rounding of Thomas' stomach, soft and infinitely vulnerable, and the drop of water clinging to its apex, trembling with every breath.Suddenly James' mouth was dry, and the only water in his world was that delicate flash of diamond on Thomas' skin.---AKA they both grow softer and older and love each other very much and banter all day longAKA the Mutual Belly Appreciation Fic that this fandom needs





	wear and tear

It had come as a surprise to James how much Thomas liked his belly.

As the initial shock of their reunion softened into mere stunned disbelief, he hadn't been able to shake the thought of what Thomas must think of him. He had changed much in the years since their separation; gone were the days of his trim lieutenant's figure. He had grown soft in some places, hard in others, sinew was more prominent and wrinkles had started appearing where gravity exerted its inevitable pull on his form.

He needn't have worried.

Thomas made his awe and appreciation of James' new, older body and his new, softer stomach more than clear. It was evident in how he left soft bites on his way down James' front, in how greedily he watched its movement when James rode him, in how he loved grabbing handfuls of flesh when he knelt behind James.

“Just a few minutes more,” he'd mumble in the morning and fall asleep again with his face pressed into James' stomach. He'd wake up drowsy and drooling into James' navel, which was as unsavoury as it was endearing.

James bore it with as much grace as he could muster.

“Why?” he asked one warm evening, once they had cleaned off after a bout of sticky, slow love-making. Thomas had straddled him and rubbed himself against James' belly until he spilled all over it.

Thomas contemplated the question with grave seriousness.

“I always took what comfort I could in imagining you without me,” he said then. “When I was in Bethlem. I was... I was in a bad place, James, and I could feel myself slipping away. But you? I hoped that somewhere out there, you were living as good a life as you could, that you were safe and comfortable even if I could not be with you. I dreamt that you grew old and soft and grey, that you would live long and defy those that want men like us dead.”

James' fingers skittered across Thomas' shoulderblades in distress, and one of Thomas' hands stilled his wrist.

“That's in the past,” Thomas said firmly and kissed James' pulse. “You hear me, James? Don't you look at me like that, I've _been_ there, it was awful, and it's over. I was hoping you'd find peace without me because I couldn't see us finding any together. Of _course_ I'm happier to be with you instead, now.”

James gave nothing but a hum in reply.

No, Thomas' appreciation of James' stomach had long ceased to be surprising and was merely another instance of grace bestowed upon James in this new life of his.

What truly surprised James was when he discovered Thomas was growing softer too.

\- - -

It was the summer a year after their escape from the plantation, and the humid weather had given way to rain and thunder in the late afternoon. James had been home early, and already begun heating water in anticipation of Thomas' return.

Thomas arrived as thoroughly soaked as James had expected, hair stuck to his skull, clothes sopping wet.

“At least the rain is warmer than it was back in London,” he sighed and tilted his head to accept the kiss James pressed to his temple.

“Get out of your wet clothes,” James said. “I'll hang them by the fire. There's warm water to wash up.”

Thomas' eyes softened with gratitude as he spotted the lightly steaming pitcher. The ice baths at Bethlem had thoroughly rid him of his tolerance for cold water.

James used the opportunity of touching Thomas under the guise of helping him undress. Thomas had already shrugged out of his justeaucorps and was starting on the buttons of the gilet underneath. James undid the lowermost button and worked his way up until their hands met on the last. They fumbled a moment, tugging and laughing and swatting each other's hands aside, and in the end there was no telling who had opened the button; but the gilet slid easily off Thomas' shoulders when James set to remove it.

James pulled two chairs closer to the fire to hang the gilet and justeaucorps from while Thomas peeled the rest of his clothes off. Once James had hung them too by the fireplace, he lay back on the bed to watch Thomas wash.

“Enjoying yourself?” Thomas asked over his shoulder and tilted his hips more rakishly than necessary.

“How couldn't I?”

James demonstratively rubbed a palm over his crotch; but the truth was that it had been an exhausting day and he was feeling rather restive. The gesture served more to amuse than to stimulate.

Thomas laughed. It was that charming, brittle laugh, low and chipped around the edges, that he only laughed in private, in quiet moments shared with loved ones. It mingled with the soft splash of water as he dipped the cloth back in the basin to continue washing.

The clouds to the west had eased up, and warm evening light filtered through the curtains. They touched the room with gold, dripping down the bookshelves, spilling from the table.

When Thomas raised his arms to press the cloth to the back of his neck, James followed the movement with his eyes. A number of droplets fell along the way, catching the light before they passed into shadow where the sun didn't reach beneath the window sill.

Once, James had been shy to look at Thomas. It had been forbidden, _seemed_ forbidden, to feast his eyes the way he wanted on a man, especially one of such high birth, _especially_ the man he had been assigned to assist in a political matter. Even on their first night together Thomas had to encourage him to stop averting his eyes out of sheer habit. He had wanted to give Thomas all the space he needed, and Thomas had resolutely dispelled any such notions.

These days James looked his fill.

Thomas' profile was easy on tired eyes. The curve of his back on one side, smooth but for that slight stoop acquired over years of field labour, and the more complex series of dips and swells at his front, where muscles bunched and stretched and relaxed as he twisted to reach a difficult spot at his back. James had learnt not to offer help; Thomas liked a bit of assistance well enough when he asked for it, but most of the time he wrestled with the stiffness of his right arm on his own. The result of an accident at the plantation that he refused to speak about.

A droplet of water caught James' eye. He shifted back against a pillow to be more comfortable and to see better.

The drop sparkled as it slid from Thomas' collarbone down through the valley of his chest, over the wide arch of his ribcage, and further down, trailing a shimmering path behind it, along the gentle swell of his stomach.

James' eyes stuttered to a halt.

Thomas disliked talking much of Bethlem, but he had said enough to let James understand that good eating had not been part of his time there, and that much of what food he had been given he had been forced to bring up again. Toiling in Oglethorpe's fields had seen him filling out, but the labour had been as punishing as the food had been nourishing, so he had grown strong and hard, not pampered.

But there it was. A rounding of Thomas' stomach, soft and infinitely vulnerable, and the drop of water clinging to its apex, trembling with every breath.

Suddenly James' mouth was dry, and the only water in his world was that delicate flash of diamond on Thomas' skin.

“James?”

At Thomas' soft exclamation, James grew aware that he had moved from the bed; that the floor had risen to meet his knees, and that his face was only a few hands away from Thomas' underbelly.

James glanced up, caught Thomas' eye, and looked back down. Leant in and kissed the jewel-bright droplet off Thomas' stomach.

Above him Thomas drew in a breath; the skin beneath James' lips jumped and a hand landed, swiftly but gently, on his shoulder.

“I appreciate the effort,” Thomas said. “But it's been such a long day, I'm not sure I'm up to—“

“No, no, that's not what I—“

James shook his head and smoothed a hand over Thomas' thigh to dispel his concern, and Thomas went silent, albeit somewhat puzzled. Uncertain what to say, James let his head fall forward, brow pressed to the soft skin of Thomas'—Thomas' _belly._ He was grateful when Thomas let him be, and simply cradled James' head in his warm, warm hands, light as benediction.

A gentle thumb stroked up and down behind James' ear, and when he opened his eyes he saw lone droplets still clinging to the fine hairs on Thomas' legs. James exhaled, and felt the hands ease their hold, though they stayed in place.

“Alright?” Thomas asked above him. James nodded, felt the light hair trailing to Thomas' groin rub against his cheek.

It took effort to make himself get back to his feet, but Thomas offered a hand and James pulled him to the bed. He tugged a light woven blanket towards them and loosely wrapped Thomas in it. Thomas gave a sigh of contentment when James laid him out on his back, half in and half out of the blanket, and rested a thigh across Thomas'.

Without thinking, James slipped a hand into the warm dark just under the blanket's hem to rest it on Thomas' stomach. It gave, just so, under the weight of his hand.

Thomas shifted.

“I'd hoped you wouldn't notice.”

James glanced up. “Why?”

A sheepish shrug. “I'm not getting any younger.”

“Neither am I, and there's no use pretending you don't like me getting old and fat.”

Thomas' stomach jumped with his laughter, graceless and full-throated.

“Is that what this is about?” he asked when he had recovered. “You like knowing you're not the only one showing some wear and tear?”

What had surely been intended as a light-hearted question made James go quiet instead, and Thomas, sweet perceptive Thomas, went quiet with him as James frowned and searched for words.

“When you were taken from us—“ James faltered, inhaled, exhaled, and tried anew. “For ten years, you were frozen. I thought you dead, and for ten years, you remained exactly as I had last seen you. Beautiful and untouched by the horrors of the world. I knew, knew in my _mind_ that you had met a terrible fate, but my heart refused to picture you as anything but how you had been. You never grew old, you never turned grey, you simply... were. Even as you weren't.”

Heavy fingers stroked James' shoulder, drawing comforting heat across his skin. James exhaled noisily.

“I know it's silly to feel so strongly about this, now, of all things.” The gentle tapping of fingertips let James know that Thomas disagreed with his words, but Thomas didn't interrupt them. “You were changed when I found you again, you had changed so _much,_ but this—somehow—“ James made a noise of frustration. “I suppose bearing witness to you living and changing and growing soft and comfortable—I suppose that it's a little different again from seeing the finished picture without watching it form.”

Thomas shifted to kiss the top of James' head, and then he kissed his brow and his eyelids, and sighed as he settled his naked thigh across James' legs.

“Suppose that's true,” he sighed.

James tugged on the hem of the blanket to cover most of Thomas again, even though Thomas was quite dry by now.

During this maneuver, as he twisted to reach across his lover, James felt the rub and give of their stomachs between them, and he made sure to wrap Thomas in not just the light wool, but in loving arms as well.

Thomas made a drowsy sound in response and shifted closer, eyes closed.

“In the morning,” he mumbled, “you can suck me off, and you can put your face in my belly as much as you like.”

James gave a snort that was half sigh.

“I'd like that very much,” he said.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wool is a surprisingly good fibre for all seasons! It keeps you nice and cool in summer. Just in case anyone was wondering about that wool blanket in summer.
> 
> Feedback of any kind is appreciated <3
> 
> Come find me [on tumblr!](https://squid-inspiration.tumblr.com/)


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